Hurt
by bgharison
Summary: Steve didn't just come back from North Korea injured; he came back hurt.
He'd suffered worse injuries than those just handed to him in North Korea - much worse, actually, in Afghanistan - but somehow, he didn't ever remember _hurting_ this much. He couldn't remember a time when his whole being ached the way it did in this moment, safe and sound in the passenger seat of the Camaro. Danny had moved the seat back as far as it would go, reclined the seat a bit, and still, Steve had bit back a string of expletives when he lowered his cracked ribs into the seat.

Danny had closed the door as gently as possible and leaned for a moment against it before walking around to the driver's side. As much as he bitched and moaned about Steve always driving his car, he would have gladly given him the keys . . . hell, he'd give him the pink slip on the thing, if it would have taken away that pained, haunted look in his eyes. He'd seen Steve shot, bones broken . . . but he'd never seen him look so damn _hurt_ as he did in that moment when he plucked him out of the back of that truck. In the helicopter, sure, the relief and adrenaline and Chin's happy announcement had made him smile, but Danny knew it for what it was; a brief reprieve before the reality set back in. He wasn't just injured. He was hurt - the sting of betrayal and the agony of loss went deeper than the cuts, burns, and bruises.

"You sure you shouldn't stay overnight?" he asked quietly, before he turned the key in the ignition.

Steve shook his head minutely. "Dehydration, couple cracked ribs. Nothing they can do that I can't do at home, Danny."

Danny nodded, started the car, and drove back to Steve's place. The city was dark, and quiet, and they were both too exhausted to make any attempt at conversation. Danny drove carefully, gingerly, but even so the occasional bump in the road wrested a muffled grunt from Steve. They finally pulled in front of Steve's house, and Danny heard him sigh in relief.

Kono's red Cruz was parked there already, and there were a couple of dim lights on in the house; in the living room, and upstairs, in the bedroom.

"She's here?" Steve asked Danny. He tried not to sound too hopeful. Maybe she'd just left her car here, too tired to drive home, and Chin had given her a ride.

Danny smiled at him. Steve recognized it as the smile that said that Danny saw straight through him and all his bullshit.

"Of course she's here, Steve, where else would she be?" Danny said, looking fondly at his friend.

"Danny, we've never . . . we aren't . . . " Steve started.

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should," Danny said. "But that's not the point, and that's not why she's here. She's here for the same reason I am, Steve; because you're a good person, a good friend, and you're not alone." He got out of the car, grabbed his bag from the trunk.

Steve hadn't moved to get out of the car, but he flinched when Danny tapped lightly on the window. "Sorry," he muttered, as Danny opened the door. Steve gingerly swung his long legs out of the door first, then somewhat reluctantly accepted Danny's outstretched hand. Gripping each other's forearms, Danny planted his feet firmly and provided Steve the much-needed leverage to pull himself from the vehicle.

"You okay, big guy?" Danny asked, as Steve swayed slightly.

Steve nodded; probably because he was too winded from that simple exertion to speak. Danny resisted the urge to put an arm around Steve - for one thing, he wasn't sure, with those cracked ribs, if it would help or hurt - but he walked close, very close, as they slowly made their way up the sidewalk.

()()()()()()()()

They'd talked about it in the hospital, while Steve was getting x-rays.

"He's going to need help," Chin said. "And some space. I'll stay overnight at the palace; field all the phone calls. And I'll keep Joe occupied. We're grateful, Danny, that you called him - no way we would have pulled this off without him - but I think we're all agreed, Steve needs some time to regroup before he gets into . . . well, whatever it is he's going to have to get into, now that Joe White is involved."

Danny nodded in agreement. "Kono can go on over to Steve's house," he said, pulling out his spare key and handing it to her. She looked up at him, surprised. "He shouldn't come home to a dark, empty house," Danny continued. "Check and make sure there's clean sheets - soft ones - maybe warm up some soup. And Kono . . . I'd plan to stay, if you're up for it."

"Yeah, Danny, I have a bag in my car. I'll stay," she agreed.

()()()()()()()()

Steve was surprised when Danny opened the door. He'd been gone long enough that he hadn't expected the house to smell . . . good. There were a couple of windows open, and the cool evening air was drifting through the house. It smelled of salt, and sand, and home. And something else, from the kitchen. But underneath all of that, the subtle fragrance that he associated with Kono. He'd been distracted by it more than once, usually standing at the computer table, and he'd never pinpointed if it was her hair, a perfume . . . or just her.

Steve flinched at the solid thunk of the door latching closed.

"Sorry," he mumbled again.

"Steve," Danny said softly, placing his hand, warm and solid and reassuring on Steve's shoulder. "You do not have to apologize, okay? What do you need, right now; what first?"

Steve thought about that for a moment. "Shower," he rasped. They'd cleaned him up at the hospital, but it wasn't the same as his own shower. Familiar, comforting. He still felt bits of blood and grime caked in his hair, on his skin.

"Anything to eat?" Danny asked. "I think Kono heated up some soup."

That made sense. The good smell coming from the kitchen. "No, thanks," Steve said, his stomach rebelling at the thought. "Maybe after I've slept a little while."

The sound of a door opening and closing upstairs caught their attention, and Steve glanced furtively at the stairs.

"Kono's upstairs," Danny said, and Steve hated that he had to be reassured, in his own home. "She's probably putting clean sheets on the bed. Can you make it up the stairs? Rather sleep down here?"

Steve shook his head. It had taken him a while to stop thinking of the master bedroom as his parents, but he had, and he wanted the comfort of his own bed. "I've got it Danny, thanks."

"I'll be right here," Danny said, putting his bag in the doorway of the guest room.

"You're staying?" Steve asked.

"I'm staying," Danny said firmly. "Come 'ere," he added, stretching out his arms.

Steve allowed Danny to wrap him in a careful hug. "Thanks, Danny," he said, choking up just a bit. "Thanks for calling Joe, coming after me."

"We will always come after you, Steve. So, maybe don't make it so hard to find you, okay?" Danny said, cupping his hand around the back of Steve's neck.

"Yeah. Yeah, Danny, I got it," Steve said.

"Okay, good. Now, go; before you fall over," Danny said, gesturing to the stairs.

()()()()()()()()

There was a small lamp on in his bedroom; enough to cast a warm glow but not enough to hurt his eyes. More. Than they already hurt. God, everything hurt.

The Kono smell was stronger as he went into his room, and he could hear her in the bathroom, opening the cabinet door and closing it again. When she emerged, he was standing in the middle of the room, holding a ubiquitous white hospital pharmacy bag.

He looked far too lost for someone standing in their own bedroom, she thought. She relieved him of the bag, laid it carefully on the dresser.

"Steve," she said quietly, and took his hands in hers, squeezing so gently. He held her hands; less gently. It grounded him; helped him make sure he was really here, back in Hawaii, back home. Her hands were strong - sniper's hands - and he knew he wasn't hurting her. Jenna's hands hadn't been as strong.

"Jenna," he blurted out. Kono hadn't been in the compound, she'd been back with Frank. She hadn't seen.

"I know, Steve," Kono said, squeezing back. "I know. I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "I'm going to take a shower," he said. He couldn't talk about Jenna right now.

"I put out clean towels . . . there's a change of clothes on the counter for you," she said. It might have felt awkward, going through his things, finding a soft pair of gym shorts and a worn t-shirt. It didn't; maybe having each other's lives in their hands on a regular basis short circuited awkwardness. "I'll just go -"

"Stay," he said quickly, urgently; then dropped his eyes to their hands, still joined. "I mean, no, you don't need to -" He dropped her hands.

"I'll stay," she said, brushing her fingers, soft and cool, over a bruise on his cheek. "I'll be right here," she added, pointing to a chair in the corner of the bedroom. "Okay?"

He limped into the bathroom; left the door cracked. She'd noticed that he'd left the bedroom door cracked, too, and made a mental note: let's not close the doors all the way for a while. She picked up the white pharmacy bag and looked for instructions. Pain relievers, heavy duty ones: every four hours as needed. Analgesic/antiseptic cream: apply to electrical burns in a thin layer, as needed, for pain relief and prevention of infection. Another one, whose name she didn't recognize: nightly, as needed, for insomnia. She placed them neatly on the night table, next to the glass of water and bottle of Gatorade she'd put there earlier.

Steve came out of the bathroom, still rubbing half-heartedly at his hair with a towel. Kono was curled in the chair in the corner of the room, glancing idly through the issue of Guns and Ammo that he'd left on the seat. Her hair was still damp from where she'd showered earlier; falling in waves around her face.

 _Maybe you should_ , Danny had said.

"Should what?" Kono asked, looking up at him. He hadn't realized he'd said it out loud; shook his head. She sat quietly, watching for some cue from him as to what he needed, what she should do next. He poked at the prescriptions as if they were incendiary devices, a look of vague disgust passing over his features - as if the bottles were mocking his pain and weakness. His hand fell on the tube of analgesic cream, though, and his long fingers wrapped around it. He picked it up, squinted a bit at the instructions, and unscrewed the cap. Squeezing a bit of it onto his index finger, he awkwardly tried applying it to one of the burns, wincing and grunting as the movement aggravated both the burned skin and the cracked ribs.

Kono gracefully unfolded her long legs from the chair and came to stand next to him. She held out her hand, looking at him in question, and he handed the tube over to her. Taking his hand in her own, she carefully wiped the cream from his finger, and began applying it to the burns. They were scattered over his torso, over the deep range of blue and purple bruises. She schooled her features but tears filled her eyes as she took in the severity of his injuries. He looked, honestly, like he'd been hit by a truck. It had to hurt, really hurt.

"Sorry," she murmured, as a hiss of pain escaped him.

"'S'okay," he said, "it helps."

Her fingers were gentle and sure as she spread the cream over the angry wounds.

"How did . . . ?" she asked quietly. He swayed a bit, unsteady on his feet, and placed a hand on her shoulder for balance.

"Cattle prod," he answered, his face bending down toward her head. Sandalwood, he realized. The Kono smell. He inhaled deeply, replacing the memory of the smell of his own burning flesh with this smell instead. Much better. _Sandalwood and coconut. It's her hair._

"Yeah," she said, "conditioner, lotion . . . salt water is drying." He'd spoken out loud again, apparently. She smiled up at him, dimples and warm chocolate brown eyes. Jenna had dimples, too, and the last time Steve saw her eyes they'd been open but lifeless . . . he blinked, tensed.

"Hey," Kono said, her hand cupping around his face, pulling his eyes back to her. Eyes full of concern . . . full of life. He exhaled, the line of tension between his eyes softening a bit.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"No, don't," she said. "No apologies." She raised one finger, pressed it gently against his lips. He wrapped his hand around hers and kissed her fingers. The antiseptic in the cream on her fingers tingled a little bit against his lips. Or maybe it was just her. He wasn't sure why he had kissed her, he hadn't really meant to, and he looked at her, concern and confusion flitting across his face.

She smiled softly and brushed her fingers barely against his lips, chapped and cracked from dehydration and abuse. She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, then turned and rummaged through her bag, which he hadn't noticed before, sitting next to the chair. Apparently she'd planned to stay, had come prepared. _Probably a plan hatched in cahoots with Danny._

"Ummhmm," she murmured, "while you were in x-ray."

"Am I saying stuff?" Steve blurted out. She straightened, turned, a small tube in hand that she'd retrieved from her bag. "You're answering me but I'm not sure I'm saying stuff."

"Yeah, it's okay," she said. "You are. Saying stuff, I mean. I'm not reading your mind."

"Okay," he said, nodding.

She squeezed a dab of cream from the tube onto the tip of her finger. Raising her eyebrows in question, she held her finger close to his lips. He nodded and she gently, carefully dabbed it on, extremely cautious where his lip was split, rubbing the cream in gently.

He was unsteady again, his hand going back to her shoulder for balance, and she put her free hand against his hip to steady him.

"There," she whispered. "Better?"

He nodded. "It smells like you," he said, his hand sliding of its own will into her hair, his head drooping in exhaustion. He gave in, buried his face in her hair as she wrapped both arms around him, carefully. She stood firm, taking some of his weight. Kono was strong, so strong, Steve thought. _Jenna was made of strong stuff, there at the end_.

"I know," Kono said, and her lips brushed against his collarbone as she spoke. "She called Danny; you know that, right?"

"She had a pin," he said, his voice raspy with fatigue and emotion. "She pulled it out . . . out of Joshua's knee. Just before WoFat . . . just before, she slid it to me. That's how I unlocked the cuffs, got away."

Kono lifted her head and wrapped her hand around the back of Steve's neck. She pulled back a little and looked at him, confused. "I thought . . . Danny said you were in the truck . . . "

He shrugged. "They caught me again," he said, as if this was a game of hide and seek. But Kono saw a flicker of something in his eyes that belied his casual comment, something like raw _hurt_ , and she willed herself to see it, not to look away. Steve tilted his head; studying her. This was when most people lost their nerve, stammered something about him needing rest, or a shot, or pills . . .

 _Maybe you should_ , Danny had said. Steve thought about the . . . fondness. That's what it was. Fondness for Kono. He'd tried to explain to Danny that he hadn't acted on it, nothing had been said, nothing done. He was older than her, he was . . . hurt. People around him got hurt. But, Danny cared about Kono, too, and Danny had said, _Maybe you should._

"Maybe I should what, Steve?" she asked. He looked at her; she was still looking steadily into his eyes, still, at the point where most people would have walked away.

"Walk away," he blurted, dropping his hands, and his eyes. She tucked her fingers under his chin, lifted carefully, gently, until his eyes met hers again.

"Oh," she said, softly. She had a feeling he wasn't talking about her walking downstairs. "Is that what you want?"

"No," he said. He shook his head. "No," he repeated. "I don't want you to walk away."

She nodded. "Okay, good, because I didn't plan to." Her fingers brushed his cheek again, soft and cool, and he closed his eyes and leaned in to her touch. "Hey," she said, "you need to sleep now. Do you need to take something?" Her fingers were gone, and he missed them. He opened his eyes and saw the prescriptions, one in each of her hands.

He frowned at them again. They'd given him a shot at the hospital already. It was making him say things without meaning to. Maybe taking more wasn't a good idea.

"Come on, Steve, even you are allowed to need some help," she said. "So, do you need help sleeping?" She held up her right hand. "Something for pain?" She held up her left hand. "Both?" she suggested, giving the bottles a little shake.

"I . . . " he frowned again, studying the bottles. He awkwardly reached out and poked her left hand. "I think I can sleep," he said, "but . . . " he paused, as if it was killing him to admit it.

Kono tilted her head, waiting patiently for him to finish.

"I hurt," he said, simply.

She nodded and looked at the label again; tilted out two tablets into his bruised hand, and handed him the glass of water. He downed the pills while she turned back the covers on the bed. She patted the mattress.

"You need to rest," she said. He nodded and looked at the bed, trying to figure out how he was going to go from vertical to horizontal with the least amount of agony.

"Okay, sit," Kono instructed, gently pressing his shoulders until he was in a seated position on the edge of the bed. "Here," she said then, gripping his forearm so that he could grip hers, much _like Danny had done to haul him out of the Camaro_.

Kono chuckled. "Well, we choreographed it, boss," she said, and she planted her feet firmly and her slim frame supported him easily as she helped him ease his aching body onto the mattress. He let out a hiss of pain and his breathing was shallow, but he made himself relax. Kono bent and expertly tucked her hands beneath his ankles, lifting and rotating until his entire body was comfortably on the bed.

He sighed in relief. "You missed your calling," he said, as she pulled the light blanket up over him.

"Firsthand experience," she said lightly. "It wasn't just my knee that got wrecked when I got axed." She was standing next to the bed, her long, tan legs exposed by her gym shorts. He could see the scar on her knee, and reached out and traced his finger over it.

"Sorry," she said, "there's no comparison . . . " But he shook his head, still tracing over the scar.

"It hurt," he said, wincing at the thought of her knee. Chin had described the injury to him once. He'd been watching, thought he would be sick at the sight of it. Steve realized he was still caressing her leg and pulled his hand back quickly.

"It's better now," she murmured, running her cool fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes again. _How come her fingers felt so amazing and cool, and how come I hadn't noticed that before?_

She chuckled and he groaned. Again; he'd said something out loud again without meaning to. "Sorry," he muttered, keeping his eyes closed.

"Stop apologizing," she commanded softly. "Sleep."

She stepped away from the bed and his eyes popped open. "Stay?" he said, and God, he hadn't meant it to come out like a plea, like a prayer, but it did.

"Yeah," she nodded, "planned on it." She turned off the lamp on the night table, left the lamp on the dresser on, and moved toward the chair. It was in the corner of the room behind him; he couldn't see her, but he could still smell the sandalwood and coconut.

Steve closed his eyes again. He shifted, shifted some more, sighed. He rolled over, grunting in pain, and opened his eyes so he could see her. She was looking at him fondly over the Guns and Ammo magazine.

Maybe you should, Danny had said.

"Kono?" he practically whispered . . . quiet, hesitant.

"Hmm?"

He patted the bed in front of him. "Can you . . . ?"

She smiled, unfolded her long legs again, and grabbed the throw off the back of the chair. She lay down on the bed next to him, pulling the throw over her. She reached out her hand toward him, and he took it in his.

"Better?" she said.

He tugged on her hand a bit, and she scooted closer, tucking her head under his chin. His hand rested comfortably on her hip, and he nestled his face in her hair. She _smelled so good._

"Thanks," she said, chuckling. "You've mentioned."

"Stupid drugs," he mumbled.

"But how do you feel?" Kono asked. "How's the pain?"

"'S'better than it was . . . " he said, drifting. "It's less . . . not as much . . . you know. Because you're here. Less hurt."

"Good," she murmured.

He tried to open his eyes. Something important he wanted to explain to her; something he'd put off, and life was too short and unpredictable to put it off. _It wasn't for nothing._

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't for nothing," he said. "Danny said . . . no, Jenna said that. Danny said, maybe we should." He managed to get his eyes opened, looked into her eyes earnestly. "You and I. Is what he meant . . . maybe we should . . . "

"Shhh," Kono said, rubbing her fingers through his hair until he closed his eyes again. "Yeah, maybe we should. Let's talk about that tomorrow, okay? Sleep, now, ku'u lei. Sleep."

So he did.

()()()()()()()()

"Good morning, sunshine," Danny said quietly, the voice of one who'd experienced his own concussion and hadn't forgotten. Steve was gingerly making his way down the stairs to join Danny and Kono in the kitchen, following the sound of low chatter and the smell of strong coffee.

"Hey," Steve said, favoring them with that lopsided smile that - now that she thought about it - had always made Kono feel a little fuzzy.

"How do you feel?" Danny asked.

Steve kept grinning. He sort of couldn't seem to stop, even though it hurt where his lip had been split by WoFat's fist.

"Oh, God, I hurt so bad," he said, half laughing, half gasping in pain. "I feel like I've been run over by an M1A1 tank."

"Is that a big one?" Kono asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, huge," Steve said.

"So why are you grinning like an idiot, you big schmuck?" Danny asked, but his blue eyes were twinkling above his fond, knowing smile.

"Because it wasn't for nothing," Steve said, as he limped over to Kono. He tangled one hand in her hair and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her firmly close to him, mindless of the bruises and burns. She smiled up at him, and he took that as a yes and bent his head and kissed her, soft and sweet and perfect.

"Ow," he said, grinning again, as Kono dabbed at the split on his lip that had opened. "That hurt."


End file.
